“Hello,” he said, nodding all around, and taking his seat. “It’s a bad night for sure. How’s everything goin’, Allan?”
“Oh, all right. We haven’t had a bit of trouble.”
“I judged so,” said Jack, “from the way the trains passed. I was over near Hamden lookin’ after that new switch. I don’t think there’ll be any trouble among the section-men or switchmen, either. They seem t’ think the thing’s a joke.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Allan gloomily. “I think it’s very different from a joke.”
The responsibility of his position was beginning to oppress him. Heretofore there had always been somebody higher up with whom, in any unusual emergency, he could consult. Now, he was thrown entirely upon his own resources, and an emergency might arise at any moment which might involve much more than the welfare of the road. Human life might be involved, and law and order—all these might hinge upon a single word, the decision of a moment. If only it might be given him to speak the right word, to decide wisely! He trembled inwardly at thought of the crisis he might be called upon to face.
“I’ve got to go back,” he said, at last, pushing back his chair. “I don’t know how long I’ll be,” he added, “so don’t wait up for me.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Jack, catching a telegraphic glance from Mamie and hastily gulping down his coffee. “I want to take a look around an’ see how things are.”
“All right,” said Allan, “come along,” and together they went out into the night.
The wind had increased in violence and the weather was turning much colder. They needed all their breath, as they fought their way up the street against the wind. At the freight-shed, Allan paused for a word with one of the guards, who was stamping his feet and clapping his arms against his sides in an effort to keep warm.
“Everything all right?” he asked.